Page 85 of Boiling Point
She shuddered slightly in my arms—a quiet, gorgeous tremor that shattered what was left of my composure. “I love you too,” she whispered, fierce and sure, like it had been waiting just beneath her skin, waiting for the right moment to break free.
I held her like a drowning man clutching air—only to realize she wasn’t just the air.
She was the whole reason I was breathing at all.
And I would never, ever let her go.
Chapter 30
Gabrielle
Finals week was brutal, but it had its perks—chief among them, Cal taking over the cooking and dishes so I could study. He stood at my sink, sleeves pushed to his elbows, water sluicing over the dinner plates. His black collared shirt clung to the lean lines of his body. His coffee-colored hair was slightly mussed, that one rebellious lock falling across his forehead as he worked. A kitchen towel hung loosely over his shoulder, and he looked so utterly at home that my heart ached.
I sat cross-legged on my living room floor, calculus book open and notes strewn around me like leaves. The numbers and symbols blurred together, tangled and stubborn, refusing to resolve into anything meaningful. My gaze kept drifting back to him—caught in the tempo of his movements, in the way he belonged so completely in this space. With me.
He glanced up, catching me in the act. “Back to work, love,” he called, a teasing lilt in his voice. “That calculus exam won’t pass itself.”
I groaned theatrically and let my head fall onto the coffee table with a soft thud. “It should,” I mumbled into the wood, though I couldn’t help the smile tugging at my lips.
He laughed, low and warm, and the sound wrapped around me, softening the edges of my frustration. “You’ll do brilliantly,” he said, rinsing the last plate and setting it in the rack with a satisfied clink.
I lifted my head, propping my chin in my hands. “How’s your workload?” I asked, watching as he wiped his hands on the towel and slung it over the faucet.
“Rather light, actually.” He moved to the couch, his presence filling the room with a quiet, electric ease. “Other than marking exams, I’m essentially done for the term.”
I tracked his movements as he settled beside me, the cushions dipping under his weight. He pulled a thick folder from his soft-sided briefcase and tapped it with a red pen. “You study,” he instructed, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “I’ll grade quantum physics finals.”
We worked in companionable silence, the room filled with the rustle of paper, the scratch of his pen, the soft brush of pencil against my notes. Every so often, I’d sneak a glance at him—the way his brow furrowed in concentration, the deft movements of his hands as he marked each exam.
Time slipped by, measured only by the soft ticking of the clock and the growing stack of graded papers beside him. There was a strange comfort in knowing he was there, just an arm’s length away, sharing this small piece of life with me.
At last, I got tired of the numbers refusing to arrange themselves into anything comprehensible. I snapped the calculus book shut and leaned back against the cushions with a sigh.
He looked up, a playful arch to his brow. “Finished?”
“If it’s not in my brain by now,” I said, stretching my arms overhead, “it never will be.”
His eyes lingered on me, a tender warmth there that made my chest tighten.
I popped to my feet and rummaged through my purse. “Before I forget…” I pulled out my wallet. “I need to give you your credit card back.”
He shook his head as he stood, a sly smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Absolutely not. Hang on to it, in case anything else comes up.”
I hesitated, heat rising in my cheeks. “Are you sure? I…might have gotten a bit carried away.”
“Positive.” He slipped the card back into my wallet with easy authority, his fingers brushing mine. “Did you get everything you needed for the trip?”
I wrinkled my nose. “Come see.”
I led him into the bedroom, where two half-packed suitcases spilled onto the floor with the aftermath of a shopping spree. New clothes hung in my closet, tags still dangling from their sleeves.
His eyes widened slightly as he surveyed the scene. “Did Isabel help you figure out what to buy?” he asked, his tone apologetic. “I know I’m useless when it comes to that sort of thing.”
“She was great,” I said, though guilt prickled beneath my words. “I hate bombarding her with questions while she’s knee-deep in wedding chaos.”
Cal plucked a deep violet cocktail dress from the closet, its satin shimmering under the light. “I really like this one.” He turned to me, a wicked gleam in his eye. “I can’t wait to see you in it,” he said, his voice low and teasing. “Then take it off of you.”
I swatted him lightly on the arm, but a shiver of anticipation curled through me. He caught my wrist, pulling me into him with a swift, playful motion.
